Work Text:
Their footsteps echoed loudly through the hallways, the air thick with tension as the two groups advanced on each other.
Two groups. Two opposites. Two rivals who were intent on dying on this hill.
Exhibit A: The jocks. Classic high school stereotypes, styled hair, pressed clothes. Smug grins plastered across their faces. Hot girlfriends watching, standing there in their short skirts, hands pressed to their glossed mouths.
Exhibit B: The losers. Illi, the delusional kid who spent her time drawing instead of studying. Mikey, the quiet kid with asthma. Ray, the tall nerd who couldn’t shut up about his comic books. Frank, the punk, uniform untucked, who spent most of his time graffitiing the walls and letting Illi draw all over his arms.
Two groups.
Two storm fronts.
Each coming to a head.
The jocks clutched lacrosse sticks, fancy equipment they’d clearly bought with their parents' money. The losers held croquet mallets, chipped and worn, old, yet still solid enough to land a hit.
They both advanced towards each other, no hesitation in their minds as they reached a collective point in the center of the hallways.
And then, they raised their weapons and swung.
The result was instant, and deafening.
Crack!
as the croquet mallet hit the jocks knees.
Crack!
as Frank hit the locker, leaving a dent and making everyone cover their ears.
Crack!
Crack!
Crack!
The sounds were jarring and violent, but no one intervened. There was only so much damage the losers would do, only so far they’d go.
The jocks were the ones who had to be worried about.
Someone should have stopped the fight.
Someone should have intervened.
But nobody saw when one of the jocks wrestled a mallet away from Illi. Nobody saw as the boy stood, triumphant, raising the weapon over his head like a trophy that was invisible through the flurry of war.
Nobody saw as he brought it down, fast and hard, onto Illi’s skull.
But they all heard the thud that came after, They heard her scream that echoed through the air. They saw the red that decorated the tile as she fell to the ground, eyes closed. They heard Mikey’s shout, heard Frank cursing out the jocks as they ran, panicked.
And then there was nobody around to hear anything.
Just the losers, knelt on the floor around Illi as she bled onto the cool linoleum floor.
Exhibit A: The cowards, the ones who ran. The boys who showed their true colors the moment their own actions caught up with them. The tough front that faded when they couldn’t shift the blame away.
Exhibit B: The loners. Left to deal with the situation on their own, even though everyone saw it happen. Everyone watched Illi fall. But nobody helps the losers, anyways. Not even the people who pretend to care.